


open hearts and empty cups

by sneklemore (orphan_account)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:05:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sneklemore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of (specifically) Star Wars reader inserts written when I have nothing better to do. Suggest an AU and romantic interest and I'll see what I can do!</p>
<p><b>ORDER:</b><br/>- Phasma<br/>- Poe Dameron<br/>- Armitage Hux<br/>- Finn | FN-2187<br/>- Ben Solo | Kylo Ren<br/>- Rey</p>
            </blockquote>





	open hearts and empty cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coffee shop au (bc this obviously hasn't been done enough already -sneks away-)

 The coffee shop on the corner of Fifth and Main isn’t particularly impressive. They serve average coffee and average sandwiches, average tea and average baked goods. Why, then, do you keep coming back? After all, you are human and naturally selfish, no matter what the philosophers say in their long-winded essays about human goodness and corruptibility. You ought to have the best of everything. 

The funny thing about it all, though, is that you  _ do _ have the best at the coffee shop—at least, you do in regards to the cashier.  PHASMA , the nameplate reads. It is what had initially caught your attention. Such a unique name.  She carries herself like a queen, you think as you watched her man the counter. Royalty. 

When you thank her for the chocolate chip muffin, she smiles at you.

Her smile could power a city.

“No problem…” She trails off, eyeing you expectantly. It takes you a moment, but you realize that she doesn’t know your name. You tell her, and she parrots you, rolling the letters around in her mouth like a fine chocolate. Her voice is smooth, and you suppress a shudder of arousal. 

_ Ugh, not  _ now _ , of all times, _ you grumble to yourself.  _ Think of something sad, something  _ not _ sexy.  Something like… dead kittens. Or just dead people in general. _

With that picture in mind, you tamp down on the heat pooling in your belly successfully.

Phasma watches, amused, as you hurry away in your embarrassment (cheeks red and burning and so, so full of blood) and huffs a laugh as she sees the pastry still sitting on the counter. She picks it up, and hurries to catch you, “Hey, wait! You forgot something!”

You stop abruptly, cheeks flushing all over again.  _ Why does she have to be so perfect? Seriously? Couldn’t she have at least been unattractive personality-wise?  _

Cursing your open book of a face you turn around, plastering what you hope is a convincing smile of  ‘yes-of-course-everything-is-fine-I-absolutely-did- _ not _ -forget-my-muffin-in-the-shop’ onto your face. Phasma raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, holding out the crinkly brown paper bag. You snatch it from her, your fingers brushing hers. Static has the fine hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rising. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, cheeks hotter than a sunburn in Georgia in the middle of summer. “I, uh—” 

“Here.” The tall woman shoves a piece of paper into your hand before rotating pulling a one-eighty on her heel and briskly walking back to the coffee shop. You swear, later on, when telling your best friend about this, that her cheeks were  _ pink _ . You open the crumpled note.

 

_ XXX-XXX-XXX _

_ Call me - P _

 

A slow grin spreads across your mouth.


End file.
